


Flicker, Fade

by DisasterSoundtrack



Series: Kill a Liar [6]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Drag Queens, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I toy with the idea of Katya being the one for me. The one and only, the one you're supposed to keep by your side forever, or else you're more or less doomed. The idea is right there, staring at me, dressed in a blonde wig, curled up on the edge of my bed. I approach the idea with utmost care, because I'm scared of falling for it.</p><p>(Also known as the one with a night in Dallas, Willam's frilly skirt and chocolate muffins.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flicker, Fade

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from Taking Back Sunday.
> 
> To everyone who's motivated me to write this, you know who you are, and I thank you. Now enjoy!

"Guess who?"

I run up to Brian from behind as soon as I see him standing in a hotel lobby, and put my hands over his eyes.

"Larry! My second cousin's grandma's Barb long-lost Guatemalan lover, Larry! I'm so glad you've won your fight with gingivitis." He turns to look at me with a blinding grin on his face. I, shamefully, get all mushy and warm inside.

"Hello, bitch. You look ratched."

"I know." He winks obnoxiously and we hug. He smells like he always did, but now with a hint of something lost, nostalgic and not mine anymore. Never mine.

The two shows we're supposed to have together in Dallas are huge ones. It's me and Katya, Alaska, and the Haus of Edwards. Amongst all this romper room fuckery, the two of us have just one number to perform together: _Waterloo._ I think I can still remember our Australian routine that we've so meticulously crafted and painfully mastered. But the routine is the least of my problems.

The problem is this guy in front of me, wearing an Alaska t-shirt, tilting his head to the side like a fucking puppy. The problem, and my task as well, is not letting him get to me. The challenge is staying professional.

''You wanna get some food? I have it on good authority there's a good burger place on the other side of the street'', says Katya, not really looking at me anymore, fiddling with his pack of cigs instead.

''You know I never trust your judgement when it comes to food, right?''

''Yeah, but Trix, the thing is, hear me out - ''

''I'm joking, I'm joking, you whore! Let's go!''

The true miracle is, I manage to get through the lunch, the meet and greet and the show almost seamlessly and in decent mental condition despite the constant presence of my ex, who's smiling at me way too fondly throughout the night, and who rambles even more than usual when he talks to me. Although I have to pinch myself a couple of times, just as a reminder that this is, in fact, reality.

*

There's this hotel hallway, and it's fucking long. The walls are walnut brown, carpets all crimson red, and it's quiet, so fucking quiet in the middle of the night.

They gave Katya and me one hotel room. Single bed.

We're sitting here on the floor, leaning on opposite walls in the middle of the longest of all hallways, stupid and confused. Katya takes my hand. Our fingers wrap around each other like it's natural, because it is. It used to be.

"What the fuck do we do, Trix?"

"I have no idea." Our relationship was a secret everybody in our social drag queen circle actually knew about, or at least suspected. Our break-up is a secret we're not trying very hard to keep.

As far as I know, we've got two options: one, asking for another room and risking everybody who's performing tonight and tomorrow finding out about our falling out, or two, biting the bullet and sharing the room like we're expected to, throwing everything into the flames.

I'm pretty sure Katya prefers option one, while I'm leaning towards option two.

"What the hell are you two lovebirds still doing out here?" Alaska drawls, approaching us from one end of the never-ending hallway, tall and stunning in her lime green dress. As if on cue, we stop holding hands like we've been burned.

"Letting the delicious atmosphere of the place wash over us, what do you think?" Katya winks at her, smiling wildly, and Alaska blinks rapidly.

"Okay then! Goodnight beauties!" She waves, unlocks her room and disappears behind closed doors to leave us drowning in silence again.

I already miss holding Katya's hand.

"I say we go to sleep and stop being pussies about it. We've shared beds before, we can make it. C'mon." He retrieves a room card and opens the door to 296 where our luggage is already waiting for us. "They even chose the nice sheets for us. They're like - soft! Feel them."

Katya is on the bed in seconds, rolling around in all her drag, feeling her oats. I decide to head for the bathroom first, leaving Katya to it.

"You didn't feel the sheets, hoe!" I hear before I lock the door, and I almost burst into laughter.

"I'm gonna sleep on them, isn't that enough?"

"You - you might have a point. I like you because you're so smart."

I take off my drag with a fluttering, sick feeling at the bottom of my stomach. I know this feeling, and I hate it with a burning passion.

We're in bed twenty minutes later, boys again, Katya's make-up washed off imperfectly, as if in a rush, a black smudge on his cheekbone. Beneath the same silky sheets, his head on a pillow, eyes looking at me longingly, it's like we've been here forever; it's like we've never left. It's where we start and where we end.

"I'm so fucking horny right now, Bri. You wouldn't believe."

I would, Katya. Trust me.

"I can help you out with that." The words roll off my tongue before I can stop them. A glimmer in Brian's eyes tells me that maybe I should've. Maybe I should have some self-restraint. Maybe I should stop pining, collect all the scattered memories and move on.

We're so close I could count Katya's eyelashes in the light of a bedside lamp. I could until I couldn't because he grabs onto my waist and brings us close together, until there's no space left at all, no space left between our mouths either, and the kiss knocks all my breath out of my lungs and all thoughts out of my brain.

It's like a song we both know by heart when we tear our clothes off, cotton leftover merch t-shirts and pajama pants, when the heat of both our bodies joins and turns into movement, chaotic and frantic at first, Katya's dick grinding on mine, and I can feel how horny he is indeed. He holds my face in his palms, looking right at me. There might be a reflection of the pain I'm feeling in his gaze, or maybe I'm just lying to myself. Maybe he just wants to get off, and I'm right here, waiting, willing.

Katya belongs to no one. Katya is a mirage, a fleeting dream, an escape route, not real life. Katya is pictures on my phone and lies about love he keeps on telling me.

Katya feels very real though sweating in my arms in this bed we shouldn't be sharing, hands grabbing for my rock hard dick, making a mess of precum and saliva, kissing me, biting my lip in the softest way, tiny noises escaping him. And I need this, I need this so much, I want to yell about having missed him, missing him so much sometimes I can't even sleep, but it's still not okay to say it. When will it be okay to say it? Tomorrow? In two years? On my deathbed? Next time we find ourselves in that boiling hot WOW Presents basement?

Through tears in my eyes and at the back of my throat, I swallow each and every moan he makes. His cock is all slick and hot where it's sliding against mine, making me see white, falling deeper and deeper, further down the escape route we used to drive on together for almost a year, maybe more. I'm still unsure of when exactly _we_ began. Katya and I could be friends, ex-lovers and anything in between. Everything.

I'm biting his neck, unable to be coherent anymore. He moans in my ear. "I'm gonna come. I love you so much, stupid cunt. I do."

Nothing ever counts when it's said in an orgasmic haze.

It doesn't count on the phone, in a text, before sex when you're horny, during or after. It hardly ever counts at all.

Warmth covers my hands, dick and stomach while I keep on pumping Katya, licking the inside his mouth, our foreheads pressed together and all I can see anymore is white, scalding hot and white. I come seconds later with an embarrassing sound. No one cares. Katya finds my hand and holds it, guides me through it, kissing my temple. The air smells like home.

We're both sticky and gross. This is nothing new, it doesn't phase us. We're much less shaken by this event than we should be, and I suppose we're still not back together. I might be crying. Katya's not.

Before I fall asleep, still loosely holding Katya's hand, I can hear him whisper, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

*

Before I open my eyes in the morning, I'm sure something's wrong and the sheets are not so silky anymore. Sun is blasting in through the windows and I fidget a little in Katya's tight embrace. Maybe if I pretend this is normal I will charm the reality somehow, and make it normal.

"What's - 's happening, babe? Is it time to get up yet? Did my mom call?"

Katya's jumbled murmur is tickling the back of my neck. His hands are wrapped around my naked torso. Okay, okay, okay. Don't scare it. Tiptoe around it. I check the time on my phone. 10 AM.

"Still early. Don't worry." I turn in his arms to face him.

He's smirking at me lazily. "Morning, sweet princess."

I can't help but give him a solid good morning kiss. Katya reciprocates, running his fingers through my hair slowly. He pulls away after a minute or so and says, "I thought we were broken up."

"You didn't seem to mind last night."

"True. Your truth wins again. Congrats. Give me another small kiss now, please?"

I really, really want to. I can't though. I want to live, and this hurts way too much.

"I think we've had enough of those."

"Just a tiny one. Please?"

"You'll just get horny again."

"Like you won't, bitch." This time, Katya's truth comes out on top, but at least he stops asking for more kisses. "You want room service or do you wanna go downstairs for breakfast?"

*

We don't spend any more nights in the Dallas hotel. I have to leave for the airport right after the second show, and I can't even find Katya to say a proper goodbye.

That doesn't matter much, though, since he calls me right after he lands in Boston and talks to me for two hours like nothing has ever changed.

*  
I've put on weight.

I realize it sometime between the third and fourth day of being a complete recluse, playing Fallout 4 in the peace of my house. I'm standing in front of a mirror after a shower, naked as they come, not having done drag for at least a week at this point, looking at the fat gathering around my belly as if I saw a kangaroo, or something equally weird.

Something feels out of place.

I'm squeezing the love handles, frowning, the morning light ruthless on my skin, exposing each and every flaw, even the ones that are not there.

I should be disgusted with myself for letting go; if not disgusted, then at least concerned, and motivated to change the situation. I should go out for a run right now, or finally put my gym membership to use. The thing is, I feel absolutely nothing.

I've put on weight, and I realize that I don't care.

Fallout 4 eats up three more days of my life. Good. Each day not spent obsessing and worrying about a certain person is a good day. Decent, at least.

*  
I get off the stage, another town after another until they all start to blend into the same mess of hotel rooms, bars, strange faces, loud music, wine glasses in my hands. I get off the stage, the backstage too dark, to quiet, my escape too fast, making me lose heels in the parking lot and bend awkwardly to pick them up.

It's too late to look back, and still too early not to.

I know a thing or two about broken hearts, but the last thing I want to do is to play the victim, romanticize my story. I fucked up. I fucked up real bad, we both did, and maybe wounds heal slower than I thought they would. Maybe they don't heal at all, making you lose heels in dark parking lots, stumble every time you're trying to say the name Katya, or play the moment of your shameful encounter in a Dallas hotel over and over in your head.

I try not to lay awake at night thinking about the lost love, gone and forgotten. I desperately try not to. I try not to think about the one that got away, that ran from me, the one that wasn't ready and never will be.

Katya is my kryptonite. The only one that could ever break me, and he did break me alright.

I toy with the idea of Katya being the one for me. The one and only, the one you're supposed to keep by your side forever, or else you're more or less doomed. The idea is right there, staring at me, dressed in a blonde wig, curled up on the edge of my bed. I approach the idea with utmost care, because I'm scared of falling for it.

The photo I once gave to Katya, of the two of us backstage after episode 2, is still set as the wallpaper on my laptop. Katya is looking at me, a small, intimate smile on his painted lips, something between just the two of us, even though we've only known each other for a ridiculously short amount of time then, and it wasn't not love yet; definitely it wasn't love at first sight. I have no idea what it was back then, but it felt good, smelled good, tasted good. Nobody else ever looked at me like that, or made me feel all those amazing and horrible feelings.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. I hit myself in the face with a flat palm. Katya is the one for me after all.

I push the laptop off my knees, laughing hysterically in the dead of the night in my otherwise silent room, and scramble to find my phone between the folds of a blanket. I need to call him. Right now, not in five minutes, not in five hours, now, before I lose my courage. I fire up Facetime and wait for the app to establish a connection.

Bitch is in drag, juggling her phone in one hand and a make-up wipe in the other.

''Well well well. Look what the cat dragged in.''

My tongue ties itself in knots as my stomach drops as low as possible, so low I can almost hear it hit the ground. Of course I'm not going to say what I wanted to say. Of course I'm going to fall for Katya's effortless charm again. ''Sorry I'm calling so late. I just needed to see you.''

''I haven't been sleeping, as you can see. What's up, Buttercup?''

''Not much, I just – I don't know, really, I just – I wanted to – ''

''Whoa, whoa, hold your fucking horses. Is this – wait – it's 3:30 in the morning, bitch. You're in bed, not your own bed from what I can see, and – wait, wait, wait – is this a bootycall?''

''What? No.'' But it's too late, he's smiling with his full, red lips already, fluffing up his wig with the free hand.

''It's okay, babe. I'm so here for this, you know I am.'' He's winking indecently, a smile turning into a grin. ''I'm touching myself already, you know?''

''Are you?'' I don't want this. I don't want to see this, hear this, hear about this. I don't want this, but I _need_ this, need this so bad. Unknowingly, I start touching myself too, while Katya disappears from view for a few seconds. A Skype phone call sound is coming from my laptop and I answer immediately, tossing the phone, welcoming Katya's face again, on bigger screen this time.

''We're gonna need two hands for this, right? Just let me take this off, damn, oh my God.''

I watch him squirm out of his tight top, dropping the flowery fabric to the floor, followed by a bra and bust fillers. I can see a puffy skirt he's wearing, a powder pink tulle one that looks like something stolen or borrowed from Willam, and his hands quickly disappear beneath the folds of the material. My boxers are tossed aside as well.

''Now, Trix, give me something good. Show me what you got.''

I show him. I lean against the pillows, resting my head on the headboard, pumping myself, trying to keep the strokes slow, but it's hard when I see Katya's eyes half-lidded, and he's biting his lower lip, making me want to bite it too, take him into my arms, run my fingers through the strands of the wig, fuck him mercilessly and then use the wig as a cumrag.

''Fuck yeah. Go on. Faster, go faster for me, babe. I want to see you fall apart. Off with the shirt.''

I obey quickly, the air of the room hitting me in all the forgotten places. ''I need to see your fucking dick, Kat, goddammit, please.''

''Oh yeah. Oh God, yes. Right away.'' Willam's skirt joins the rest of Katya's clothes on the floor. He's not home either, it's a hotel room and he's sitting in a plastic chair, but he stands up to show me his dick in all its sticky glory.

Why did I fall for this again?

''How do you like that, Bri? How is this?'' His right hand moves up and down the length, slowly, his left hand teasing his balls. I'm not going to be able to take this for much longer. ''How do you – ugh – like that?''

''A lot'', I say, just so managing to open my mouth. ''I wanna suck it. You know I'm the only one who can do this right.''

''Yeah, oh yeah. Please, please, Trix. Please do. Or I'm gonna – ohhh – I'm gonna come over, and fuck you. Fuck you until you scream. Bite down on your earlobe, hold you by the hair, make you come for me. Would you? Would you like that?''

''Shut up, oh my God, shut it, Jesus, fuck, I thought we were – we broke up, you know – oh fuck. We're broken up.'' I know I've said it before, but my mind is flying pretty high right now, watching the drop of precum glistening on the top of Katya's dick. He takes a step back, not stopping his hand movements, and his painted face comes into view.

''Honestly, I don't – I have no idea what we are anymore.''

''You better find out before I make you come.'' My wrist is almost burning with pain. I can hear Katya laughing, but I don't look at the screen anymore. It's too hard to concentrate as I'm straining for release, my entire body strung up and tight, my dick trembling in my hand.

''You filthy whore. You a talker, aren't you? I'm the one making you come. Come for me, Trix. Come now. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.''

Low, guttural noises are all I can hear anymore from Katya's side of the connection as I come, eyes shut, breathing labored, hands and stomach sticky. I open my eyes to Katya's face filling up my screen, and he's fucking _licking his fingers_ , motherfucker.

''Trixie? Are you alright, babe?''

_No, I'm not, I called you with a completely different intention, I hate you, I love you, no, I'll never be okay anymore._

''Are you gonna be okay, Trix?''

Out of breath, I answer, ''I guess.''

''I miss you.''

''If you're lying, I'll have someone take your eyes out with a fork.''

''I'm not.'' He starts taking off the wig, smiling at me patiently. ''Why would I lie?''

A beat. I don't answer that. I don't know how to. ''Goodnight, right? Or is it good morning already?''

''Goodnight'', he forces air into his lungs loudly. ''Love you, bye.''

He ends the connection before I get a chance to say anything in reply. Another night, another lie.

The only thing that doesn't fit is the fact that Brian McCook was always incapable of lying.

*

The WeHo bar where I meet Willam by accident is crowded and stuffy. I have to wait for almost twenty minutes before I finally get to talk to him, because he's busy making eyes at a black-haired, dark-skinned guy, doing shots with him. But the guy leaves and I manage to get to Willam before somebody else steals his attention.

The only thing I need to do is ask him if he lent Katya that pink, frilly skirt.

''Oh yeah, yeah, she liked it, I did. Why? Couldn't you ask her yourself?''

''Doesn't matter. I was just curious.''

''Yeah, yeah, you wanna drink?'' I do. ''Are you guys fighting or something?'' Willam fixes the bandana holding up his bleached platinum hair. ''Katya looked like somebody died when I saw her. Bitch should get laid more.''

I shrug, much to Willam's annoyance.

''You know what, whatever. Not my business. You drinking or leaving, Mattel?''

I'm drinking.

*  
After I come back from the UK, the jetlag is almost unbearable. I don't remember feeling this bad in a long, long time. I can't ever force myself to turn the computer or the Xbox on, so I'm stuck on the couch underneath my favorite blanket, with a steaming hot cup of cocoa, watching Food Network for hours on end.

I fall asleep sometime between _Amazing Wedding Cakes_ and _Guy's Big Bite_ , with a remote slipping out of my hand.

When I wake up, my head is not pounding anymore, and the idea of what the fuck I am supposed to do is clear as day outside.

The first thing I do is buy a plane ticket to Boston.

The last one. My final shot, my last chance, my deadline. I'm flying in two days, I'll demand to be heard, listened to and spoken to, I'll demand answers, and then I'll be on my way. Or not. We'll see.

The second thing I do is look up a recipe for chocolate muffins online and then run to the store for all the missing ingredients.

The third thing I do is an attempt at making said muffins, while Lana Del Rey's old album is blasting full volume in the background.

''Flour, sugar, chocolate chips – there you go – okay. Cocoa powder – oh fuck, damn.'' I knock the cocoa powder over, making a mess of the table and my t-shirt. ''Whisk egg, yoghurt and milk – no, fuck you, you whisk it yourself if that's so easy.''

I keep scratching the side of my face and neck, annoyed at the recipe, at the wobbly substance in the bowl that refuses to be smooth, at myself. ''The fuck? Nobody told me to preheat the damn over. Jesus – okay, okay, okay. There. It's preheating.''

Willam said Katya looked like somebody died.

Day turns into evening as I work tirelessly, pretty sure my muffins will, by a stroke of bad luck, be poisonous.

After I finally put the monstrosities in the oven and set the timer for twenty minutes, I pick up the phone and call Katya. It's my last mission to accomplish today. The annoyance I've been feeling fades as soon as I take a look at the photo that is his ID on my phone: he's wearing a wig, glasses and absolutely no make-up, an unlit cigarette behind his ear.

''Hello?'' His tone is weirdly careful, none of the usual bravado, none of the _'Sup, bitch? What's crackin'?_ he used to greet me with.

''It's me, Trixie.''

''I know. I saw your name. And a picture, you know.''

''Which one?''

''I'm not – I'm not telling, Tracy.''

''Fine.'' I'm determined to finally say everything that I've planned out in my head. This time, there's no stopping me. My stomach hurts so bad I finally want to be done with it. ''Do you have, like, three minutes to hear me out?''

''Yes.'' His voice is still sad and low, and it's bothering the fuck out of me. What's going on? Panic approaches me, but I refuse to let it in. I sit down on the kitchen floor, resting my back against the warm oven.

''Will you listen? Like, really listen to what I want to say? Before I lose all the courage to actually say it to you?''

''I'm listening, baby. Go on.''

I take a deep breath and count to three in my head, but start at two.

''You know that I fucking love you, right? You know that I don't give a flying freaking piglet about your bad experiences from the past or whatever, and that I value you as a person? You know that I fell in love with _you_ , with your entire Russian hooker ridiculousness, with your horrible shake-and-go wigs, with the way you can quote more books than I've ever laid my eyes on, with the way you always stretch and dance when you pack your suitcase, with the way you...? Hell, you make me laugh like nobody else in the world. Do you know all that?''

''I do, yes.''

''I didn't ever expect you to be perfect. I still don't. I'm not perfect myself, I'm like – we were still in the making, you know? Work in progress. We could've, we _should've_ , pulled through, instead of cowarding out. Because at the end of the day, I still love you, and to me, it matters. It's enough. So Brian?''

''Yes, babe?''

''Think about this, okay? Think about this hard. And call me when you're done thinking about this.''

''I will, Trixie. Goodnight.''

I'm shocked and sick to my stomach that he wants to end our conversation on this note, especially after me pouring my heart out. The connection ends and I almost throw my phone against the wall.

I guess that answers my dilemma.

Tears that have been gathering in my eyes find their release, and then the doorbell rings.

Who the fuck? I've got half a mind not to open, but after all I'll have all the time in the world to be miserable now, so I might as well push it forward in time a little. I swing the door open, letting in the wind first, and the sight on my doorstep almost knocks me off my feet.

Katya is wearing a black coat with the collar propped up, and a coy, apologetic smile. ''I'm done thinking about this.''

''Oh, are you?'' I can barely talk. For him to show up like that, unannounced, not even sure if I'll be home? It reminds me so much of something I've done once, and wanted to do again. My heart is trying to fly out of my chest through my throat. ''And?''

''Can I come in first?''

''No. Tell me.'' I need know, or else I might die very young.

The breath he takes is so deep I can see his arms go up and down in the evening lights. ''Okay, here's the thing... The thing is... Hold on, wait – Okay.'' I watch him mess up his own hair with impatient hands. ''I'm sorry, so, so fucking sorry, Trix. I've been stupid. You were right, you are right a lot more than I give you credit for. I've been the stupidest person in the whole wide world and the galaxy to ever lose you. So if you'll still have me... Please have me.''

The lost love of my life is standing there in my doorway like a stupid romantic comedy personified, and I'm wishing he just punched me in the throat instead.

''I don't wanna get fucking back together, Katya.''

''No – you don't – oh. I was, like, on the phone you said that – ''

''I wanna fucking marry you.''

His eyebrows go up, up on his forehead, very close to his already tall hairline. His mouth forms a perfect 'o' shape. ''Excuse me?''

''Marry me. We get matching rings, invite three hundred people to the wedding, honeymoon in Russia, put up a white picket fence and get a dog together, I bake you muffins and you suck me off in the morning. This. Or, I don't know, just you and me, a quick escapade to Vegas, never even moving in together, just living on two different sides of the world, but me and Trannika watch your performances on Youtube and I get to say, _I married that bitch._ ''

Katya takes a big, quick step inside my house; his leap of faith. He pins me up against the wall, hands all over, mouth all over, and kisses me so fast I think I get a head rush. On his tongue, I can taste the wait and regret that's been collecting for so long; I can feel the heat boiling up deep inside me. Our palms are searching for each other, desperate until they finally join, but not for long, since I'm trying to bring Katya as close to me as possible, dragging him in by the lapels, by the shoulder blades, by the neck. He pulls away with difficulty after what feels like seconds and an eternity at once. Our foreheads are resting upon each other, breaths heavy. My own skin suddenly feels too small for me.

''Wait, why are you – Trix, what is that? Is that flour or cocaine on your face?''

''It's – it's flour. I've been baking.''

''Baking? Oh my God. It's all over me now.''

We both start laughing, slightly, slowly at first, until we can't stop, holding each other, and Katya grins at me, licking his finger to make sure it's really flour on my face.

''Can we please fuck now, fiancé?'', he says, hands cold against the warm skin of my chest where he holds them underneath my t-shirt.

''Fuck off, you're not calling me fiancé until you buy me a decent ring. And I want a pink diamond.''

I can't believe any of this is happening. But then again, my life tends to prove me wrong lately. My boyfriend takes off his coat and hangs it on the rack properly. ''I'll buy you ten if that gets me back into your good graces.''

''Come on.'' I extend a hand to get him in my bedroom and on the bed, naked, as fast as possible. But then I hear the timer going off in the kitchen, and I remember. ''Fuck, Brian, my muffins.'' We run to the kitchen together to turn the oven off. I don't bother to check if the muffins are baked properly; there's no time for that when Katya is undressing in front of me, clothes landing on random piles of crap that has gathered in my living room.

''I'm gonna eat all of those muffins later. There's something else I need to try first.''

''What would that be?'' I tease.

''You, silly. Come here.''

As soon as I feel his naked body against mine, I get the urge to tear off my own clothes immediately. Katya helps me do that and for a while we just stand there naked, chests flush together, his ribs poking through skin, letting the moment soak us in. Katya kisses my ear, biting slightly on my earlobe, knowing how that drives me crazy. ''Jesus, fuck, Bri, I missed you.'' He's got stubble on his cheeks that I can feel brushing against mine before he captures my lips in another long, heated kiss. I push him a little so that he lands on the couch, hoping the remote and other unidentified items won't be poking us in unwanted places as I sit on top of him.

''You know we're still gonna have to talk in the morning?'' I manage to tell him between kisses, touches and heavy breaths on both our sides. The necessity of an adult discussion about being together in the long haul, about addictions and overcoming them, about the importance of communication, is looming on the horizon, making me equal parts fearful and excited. It's something different than promising each other pink diamonds, picket fences and endless sessions of Skype sex; it's different than what we've done before, trying to quickly piece our puzzle together with Elmer's Glue instead of sitting down for the less glamorous task of actually assembling the puzzle like we were supposed to.

''I know. I know, babe. Just – I want you so much now, oh God. Can I – ''

''Yes, please just shut up'', I leave a bite mark on his neck while he squirms below me, the tip of his hard cock poking me. ''Shut up and put it in, I'm ready.''

And this, this is what I missed so much. Feeling him inside of me is like nothing else I could ever imagine happening to me. It's the sweetest feeling, it's my favorite sin and my ultimate weakness.

''Is this fine? Can I go on?'' He makes a move, hesitant, and I'm not sure if he's teasing or suddenly doubtful, having forgotten that I can take it without complaints. ''Is this alright, babe?''

''Damn it, Brian, I forgot how much – forgot how much you talk. Just – ohhh. Yes, like that. More of this. Less – '', I give him a brief kiss on the lips, ''of that.''

''I'm sorry. It's just that – you feel so good. So perfect, and I was – I – ''.

He doesn't get the chance to finish his thought, because I place my palm firmly over his mouth to stop him from talking. We're have all the time we need to talk later; right now we both require something else.

Then it's just us, groaning. Our thighs slide together while he's pushing into me, and I'm leaving bruises on his shoulders and collarbones. The burn is just as delicious as it always was, making me arch my back, fly away, come back for more. I'll always come back for more.

Katya is sucking on my fingers while I wonder how did I go on without _this_ for so long. I've nearly lost my mind. But then there's no more room for thinking, because everything gets so hot and heavy there's only one thing I can concentrate on. I claw at tightly wound muscles of Katya's back, trying and failing to keep my composure.

I don't care if neighbors hear us scream tonight.

The ice of his bright eyes melts, running down in two single lines of tears that I dry with my kisses.

*

''We're gonna be'', says Katya while we're resting on the couch, basking in the afterglow, ''such a mess. A big fucking mess of a marriage.''

''You think I care? We were a mess from the start.''

''True'', he bring my palm to his lips to lay gentle kisses on it. ''But you always nag me to do laundry, while you live in a house that is a literal dump, and you always leave the spoon in the cup when you make me tea, and you make all these awful puns when you impersonate Ru...''

''Katya, your Russian hooker realness didn't – ''

''No, stop, shut up! You're just delivering more material to my divorce lawyer, don't dig yourself a grave.''

It's so nice and comfortable just half-lying there with Katya I don't feel like ever moving, although we probably should clean ourselves up and move to bed.

''Hey Trix?''

''Yes?''

''Did you ever draw a lipstick heart on my mirror? In some hotel bathroom? And then tried to erase it?''

The memory Katya is painting comes back to me in all bright colors, reminding me the sense of absolute peace and serenity that was waking up next to him for the first time, and then the dread I felt looking at the pink heart around my own face.

''I did. Why?''

''Oh, nothing. I was just wondering.''

''Do you want me to draw you another one?'' I ask, feeling his pulse under my fingers wrapped around his wrist.

''It's okay. Let's eat the muffins now, I'm starving.''

*

I stir awake at night, panic mode on immediately, throat closed shut, desperate for comfort until my hand, groping aimlessly in the darkness, comes across the naked chest of my boyfriend who's sound asleep next to me, taking up three quarters of my bed.

I'm so relieved I cling to him immediately, resting my head on his chest, trying to fit my entire body into the nooks of his.

''Hey, babe. Hey. You alright?'' Katya raises his head, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

''Brian, do you promise?''

''Promise what, Sugarbutt?''

''That we're gonna try and make it work this time.''

In half a minute of silence that follows, he kisses the top of my head, hugging me tighter.

''I promise. I promise, I'll do my best. Stop worrying now.''

So I stop worrying; at least for as long as it takes me to fall asleep again, Katya's fingers entwined with mine.

**Author's Note:**

> So, let's talk about the past, present and future of #TeamTrixya, but most of all let's talk about this fic!
> 
> You're always welcome at samrull.tumblr.com!


End file.
